


Drake-Potter

by Enchantedtalisman



Category: DCU (Comics), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Fluff, Hit-Wixen Ron Weasley, M/M, Potions Master Harry Potter, Spell Creator Hermione Granger, no romance yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 19:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21415465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantedtalisman/pseuds/Enchantedtalisman
Summary: Dear Mr. Potter“Read it aloud.” Hermione huffs.Harry chuckles and clears his throat, “Dear Mr. Potter, We are sorry...” He frowns as his eyes skip ahead death of and last family member to.“Sorry?” Ron asks warily.“We are sorry to send you the grim tidings of the death of your First Cousins Janet Drake and Jack Drake who passed two months ago. As to their wills, all of Drake Industries goes to Timothy Drake, their son. Unfortunately their family has dwindled to a point where only their Cousins remain. As the sole adult, and last family member related to Timothy Drake, you are allowed a certain portion of the inheritance if you care for their child.”
Relationships: Harry Potter/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 37
Kudos: 613





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So works kept me with barely any spoons but I was reading a lovely Harry Potter DCU crossover fic yesterday and it reminded me I had this buried in my wips. As Always I have no idea when I'll continue this and I apologize to anyone who finds that frustrating but I can only do so much.
> 
> Still, I hope you enjoy non-the-less.
> 
> <3

Harry is thirty when the letter arrives. It feels oddly similar to when he received his Hogwarts letter. A static feeling of (not hope this time) but _nerves_ and a tingling in the air that he now knows was his magic trying to tell him something. He doesn’t have the sight, most wixen don’t have anything close to it, but his magic has been close to death too many times too count. Aware and wary enough to tell Harry when something is _important_.

This letter,  is mu ndane when Harry takes a better look at it, makes his magic thrum with potential. He casts an owl-safe cutting spell to un-tether it from the owl and summons Pigwidgeon’s food and water. Another stabilizing spell on his work space and the two potions he’s been working on for four months (testing, testing, and finalizing two new potion recipes he’s made on his own) before levitating the letter and walking towards the dueling room. Normally he would stay in the potions lab because the wards on the lab are just as strong (if not stronger) than the ones in the dueling room, but he’s not chancing a spell on his letter interacting with his potions.

On the way up to the dueling room, he pulls out a mirror that is almost the size of a  _cellphone,_ if a little larger _. _ Like one it picks up his voice and calls “ _Hermione, and Ron” _ when he says their names, and a moment later it starts vibrating in his hand. (explaining what a cellphone was to Ron had been the ultimate test in patience for both Hermione and Harry)

Two faces appear splitting the mirror awkwardly but it’s better then their previous iterations of the Mirror-phone, at least this one isn’t the size of a bathroom mirror.

“Harry,” Hermione smiles at him and brushes a streak of singed-black hair away from her face. Her dark skin glistens with sweat and Harry raises a brow, and she flushes a little, “A new fire dampening spell I’m working on, it...has it’s moments.” She admits ruthfully.

“Don’t destroy another shop, ‘Mione.” Ron says from the otherside of the mirror. He smiles teasingly, and then looks at Harry. “What did you call about mate? Not that I don’t miss you both but I’m on a tight schedule.”

“Still searching for that wixen you’re assassinating?” Hermione says, it’s not as sharp as it used to be. When Ron had first taken the  _Hit Wizard_ position their house hadn’t had a single peaceful day for a week.

Harry sighs because he’s not up to an argument. Especially when he knows Hermione’s just biting at the bit because of how difficult her current spell is being; she  _always_ starts snapping at one of them when work becomes stressful. “I got a letter.” He cuts in before Ron can finish opening his mouth.

Instantly both of them are focused. It sends a warm fondness through Harry, even if the reason for their attentiveness is partially remembering when Luna had accepted a letter five years back  and been port-keyed into a trap , but some of it is because they  _care_ . Not that Harry has doubted that in the past ten years but it had taken quite a long time to realize that Hermione and Ron cared so much—right around the time Hermione and Ron had moved into his house actually.

“ Did you see what it is already?” Hermione asks, “You have a shield on you right?”

Harry shakes his head, “No to both questions. I’m about to open it though.” He’s already reached the dueling room; a long stretch of a room with nothing except the walls, floor, and roof. If he concentrates he can see the glimmer of the wards at the corner of his eyes so bright it’s almost painful with the amount of protective magic they put into it.

“ Shield first mate,” Ron says pointedly. His nose still has a scar where it was almost sliced in half a few years ago when he hadn’t used a shield. He rubs it now and grimaces.

“Alright, alright.” Harry says and spins a magical and physical shield around him. It takes a little longer this way without an incantation but it’s more durable and he’s able to make it wrap around him like a sweater or robe. Once his entire body is covered in the shield he sticks the mirror-phone onto the wall with a sticking charm, and then raises the letter level so they can all see it.

Humming thoughtfully, Hermione says, “I doubt it’s a Death Eater letter. Even if some of them might be cunning enough to use  mundane means, our esteemed  _assassin_ ,” Her eyes narrow at Ron before returning focus on the letter, “has killed a majority of them.”

Ron sniffs audibly, “You’re  _welcome_ .”

“We know you did it to clear the riff-raff.” Harry soothes. He casts a few detection spells (and then five more that Ron, “Learned this one in Hungary last month”, and Hermione, “Oh this one a n acquaintance taught me last week” teach him on the spot) makes a slicing motion with his wand on the top and bottom of the  envelope, and unfolds the letter in another spell.

All three exhale when nothing happens. Harry cycles through the spells again on the letter. Gingerly, he touches it with a finger and another breath leaves the trio at the lack of reaction. “I think it’s fine.” He twists his magic in a way that Ron had taught them after his Hit Wizard courses, and connects a ring of magic onto his pinky and then to his wand handle letting it swing in the air at the ready if he needs it. He picks up the letter and examines it.  _Dear Mr. Potter_

“Read it aloud.” Hermione huffs.

Harry chuckles  and clears his throat, “ _Dear Mr. Potter_ ,  _We are sorry...”_ He frowns as his eyes skip ahead  _death of_ and  _last family member to_ .

“Sorry?” Ron asks warily.

“ _We are sorry to send you the _ _grim tidings of the death of_ _ your _ _First C_ _ousins Janet Drake and J_ _ack Drake _ _who passed two months ago_ _. As to their wills, all of Drake Industries goes to Timothy Drake, their son. Unfortunately their family has dwindled to a point where only their Cousins remain. As the sole adult, _ _and last family member_ _ related to Timothy Drake, you are allowed a certain portion of the inheritance if you care for their child.”_

“Seriously?” Hermione scowls.

“Paying you to take care of their kid, that’s bloody disgusting.” Ron agrees.

Harry nods absently. Throat tightening, and chest feeling oddly non-existent, like someone just scooped out his organs and left his ribs. He has a cousin, a cousin he didn’t even know about, and—he skims the rest of the letter, “Timothy lives in the states.” That voice  _can’t_ be his, but he’s the only one who spoke and it sounds rough and squeaky.

“Hey, breathe, mate, just relax. We defeated a Dark Lord, we can handle a kid.” Ron soothes, hands raised as if he wants to hold Harry.

“Ron’s right,” Hermione agrees quickly, “You became a Potion’s Master’s to shit on Snape,” She must be trying  _really_ hard to calm him if she’s making light of the dead man and cursing, “and became the youngest Potion’s Masters in Britain even before him, and then made two new potions before he ever made his first.”

Cracking a small smile, Harry feels his muscles relax and suddenly he can breathe again. He  _had_ done all of that (catching up and superseding Snape had been  _difficult_ , and he had used more than the recommended doses of Pepper Up and Awakening Potions then strictly healthy to study until his eyes hurt and his hands shook) and it still left him feeling spitefully pleased that he had beaten another of his bully’s. “ You’re right.” Harry agrees and scans the letter again, “I guess I’m going to Gotham.”

“Right after you, mate.” Ron quickly says, a relieved smile on his face.

“No you’re not. You know how those contracts get if you don’t kill your target.” Hermione quickly disagrees. “I can--”

“You will stab someone if you don’t have your notes or a lab space.” Ron snaps back.

“I’ll keep the mirror on me. Both of you will finish your work while I prepare a house if this is real. I have the emergency portkey and the runic protection Bill did for us.” Harry interrupts them and his eyes glimmer with amusement at their sheepish expressions. He grips his wand in his right hand and unsticks the mirror with a twirl of his wand. He picks it up with the fingers not holding the letter and starts walking  out of the dueling room . “I’ll be in and out before either of you are done if it is a trap.”

“Alright, if you’re sure, Har.” Ron says.

“Just be careful, don’t waste your magic. You know those runes on us are only useful if your core isn’t completely empty after their charge runs out.” Hermione says and then a blast of hot hair sends her hair covering the mirror. She sighs and pulls it away from her face and once again appears on the mirror’s screen, “I forgot I cast the spell before you called, I have to go fix the wards.” She grimaces.

“It’s fine, ‘Mione. I’ll call before I take the international portkey.” Harry reassures her, slipping down the hall and up the stairs to his room—well, their room, some days they sleep in Harry’s room, other days they split into eachother’s rooms, and other days they switch beds so often it’s more like three individual bedrooms that they hop between.

“Gotham doesn’t have a wizarding community.” Ron says just as Hermione signs off. He shrugs at Harry’s grimace, “I know mate, had a job there once, weird place, not a single magical there. I mean there’s that villian, you know?”

Harry raises a brow, because he does not know. There’s of course the superheroes he’s heard of in the news like Wonder Woman and Superman, but he rarely pays attention unless it has to deal with magic. It’s not like  a majority of the magical communities across the world have joined the superhero-movement. He knows that the hit-wizards like Ron do,  non-kill, contract work for the Justice League but what  _they_ know isn’t the same as what the mundanes know.  Even hea ring about Ron moan about Metas and their abilities and how much magic it took to catch a Villian once, and how many bruises he received in the fight  _through_ Dragon Hide,  still leaves Harry with a distant feeling to the whole thing .

“ Poison Ivy.” Ron huffs as if affronted that Harry doesn’t pay more attention to Gotham’s villians, “She has that weird plant ability. People thought she was a wixen for a while. My job was to see if her ability was a  _Natural Gift_ , like parseltongue, a bloodline.” He adds and then sighs, “ All I got for that was pollen  in my face and wanted to...” he flushes and coughs delicately in a way that implies  _sexual things_ , “for a week, but she  doesn’t fall under Wixen magic , thank Merlin.”

“Right.” Harry wonders if he can just take Timothy out of Gotham, but if he really does have an inheritance and a company on top of that he doubts he can just take the boy away. Especially if, he glances at the letter, _Drake Industries_ main office is in Gotham. “Well, I’ll make sure to avoid the Villians.” He winces, saying that feels like reading one of Dudley’s awful comic books (Before Petunia had found them and thrown them away). Sure Superheroes have been around for years even when Harry was young but...it’s one thing to hear about them and another to have to go into a city with capital V Villians.

“ Luck Mate, have to go, just saw my target.” With a complex tap of his wand  on his head , Ron glimmers out of existence,  a more proficient form of the  _disillusionment_ charm, before the mirror turns off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to figure out where I wanna go with this because i can't remember at all where I was headed other than a few faded plot points.
> 
> But for now sleep. Hope you pals enjoy! <3

Packing doesn’t take long but Harry spends an hour more jotting everything down that he’s learned about his potions. They won’t survive a trip even if he were able to take them through mundane-customs. He wishes he had more time, but the thought of leaving Timothy alone just for these potions makes his stomach turn. Parenting isn’t something Harry knows much about (most of his positive experience is the Weasley and Granger families) but he wants to _try_. Trying means that he has to put Timothy first, he thinks. At least a young Harry always wished that he had been first to _someone_.

Shaking his head, Harry quickly dispenses the potions, and takes his  _away_ kit from one of the protected cupboards. He has several of his first-created potion, a nerve soothing potion for those who have been under the crucio curse too long  (called Ease-Pain) , and assortment of healing potions in the case. A quick look around the house and he finds his mundane-passport, and a check on Hermione and Harry’s laptop (Ron has his own that he takes everywhere with him) has a ticket that costs  _far too much_ , and a flight that will happen in six more hours.

Enough time to send off any potions St. Mungos and several potion-shops have requested, and get to Gringotts. He has no idea if Gringotts even has a branch in America, and Harry isn’t at all interested in searching for one.

Gotham is smoggy, dark, and a bit more beautiful than Harry thought it would be. Sure the smog and rain make it a little dreary, but the architect is stunning and it feels...oddly pretty; if someone drew a city in greys and blacks that is. The First thing Harry does after getting out of the airport and smelling that... _air_ , is press his wand to his mouth (hidden in his sleeve) and casts a cleansing charm. His body already hurts from the lack of Pain-Ease that isn’t inside of his system. He has seven doses in his case but forgot to take them out and he can already feel the tremors that mean even with a dose he’ll spend the rest of the day shaking.

A man pushes against Harry, and he realizes he’s been standing for a good few minutes and people are giving him grumpy looks. “Such a bloody nice place.” Harry mutters darkly and then starts walking.

Finding Timothy Drake takes a lot longer than Harry would like. The letter said to come to Drake Industry lawyers but they somehow have _no idea_ where Timothy is. Harry’s magic lashes out hard enough that the coffee makers down several floors break. He’s only lucky that everyone thinks it is a power surge (which is apparently _common_ in Gotham). Worry fills Harry and he leaves after sending the lawyers cowering. Harry doesn’t need to see into anyone’s mind at the company to realize that the company has been running without Timothy or _anyone_ of the Drake’s interests for two months. He can’t be certain that it’s malicious in nature but it’s clear neglect that makes him hiss in parseltongue unintentionally.

The rest of the day is  spent hunting down leads and it’s only by  pure luck he finds information; passing a  T v that shows a recent Gala that makes him pause.

“Timothy Drake-Wayne had his very own Gala last night. Appropriately the charity promoted during said event were for Orphans of Gotham. Bruce Wayne, his adopted father, has admitted keeping Timothy Drake-Wayne from the press while he grieves for his parents for the last several months...” The Reporter continues talking but Harry’s more focused on the picture.

How many rich Timothy Drakes can there be in Gotham? He looks alright, a little too pale and a bit of purpling under his eyes but Harry knows from experience that it’s just as likely insomnia as anything else.

Bruce Wayne is beside Timothy and it takes a moment for Harry to remember why he’s looking at him (A hot flush runs down Harry’s back and he’s not ashamed to admit the man is bloody attractive). He’s charming in a _too_ _much_ way, as if he’s overcompensating. His personality is something that makes Harry’s interest nose dive. The man is a little too airy and just overall not a bad person at first glance but not someone Harry _wants to meet_.

Sadly, he has too. After  watching the last bit of the TV Report , Harry  gives  another scolding to the lawyers  through a payphone nearby . Wayne Enterprises is practically Gotham’ s life blood , and  _none_ of them knew Timothy was there. He barely pulls back his magic from destroying  the tvs through the glass or the cars on the sidewalk and hails a cab.

Wayne Manor is...large. Hogwarts  i s bigger, but Wayne Manor is meant to house three people? If Harry’s quick googling on his new cellphone is anything to go by (he’s not sure if he’s even keeping it but he can’t exactly use his mirror in a mundane population)  the Wayne Manor is  _a lot_ of space for three people . Scrying spells all indicate that Timothy lives here, and is here now, and Harry gets out of the cab without a backward glance.

The walk up to the house takes almost as long as going from the Lake to Hogwarts’ doors, and Harry feels a bubble of nerves. Clearly Wayne has taken over Drake’s guardianship and a pang of guilt and frustration flits through Harry. Hermione and Ron are close, family, but Harry has always wanted blood family and it hurts a little because Timothy staying with him seems absolutely absurd. His minor search had indicated Mr. Wayne has already adopted two others boys, and almost every picture (even the paparazzi) they look _content_ or _happy_. Harry knows fake happiness, and while some of the pictures (mostly the Gala’s) are fake smiles, the Pap-pictures are far more _real_.

But Harry has rarely backed down and so he knocks on the door and clasps his shaking fingers behind his back, wishing he had thought of pulling out his kit and taking the potion. His fingers hurt and if Timothy’s situation hadn’t distracted him…

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, I am the butler, Alfred.” A distinct british voice pulls Harry from his thoughts and he blinks in surprise at the older gentlemen standing in front of him.

“Hel’o,” Harry smiles slightly, feeling his nerves rise and fall in waves, “I,” He rummages for a moment in his pockets feeling a slight flush at the man’s raised eyebrow, and pulls out the letter, “I received a letter,”

Alfred takes the letter carefully with his gloved hands and doesn’t let a single bit of his skin touch it.

Harry briefly takes note of that before continuing, feeling a little calmer with the letter between them, “I am Harry Potter. I heard Timothy Drake is living here now, and the letter states he’s my cousin you see.” His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and  _merlin_ he’s fought Voldemort, but apparently the thought of meeting his cousin makes his whole body fill with adrenaline and fear.

A small sympathetic expression flits across Alfred’s face before he opens the door a little wider and beckons Harry in. “If you will, I will bring both Master Bruce and Master Timothy to the sitting room. Would you like some tea?”

Harry follows Alfred past a hall that reminds him vividly of the Potter Manor before he had locked it up, and towards a small sitting room that looks like it’s meant for Guests—impersonal and every single picture is either a landscape or a professionally done family portrait. He sits at Alfred’s gesture to one of the seats and clasps his, for once, still hands. “Yes, thank you.” Harry hates how much relief goes through his tone but Alfred smiles at him again and departs. The pain that tingles from Harry’s fingertips up to his back distracts him for a few minutes—the desire to take his potion and the other desire to not look like a total loon if Wayne or Timothy shows up makes it difficult. When Harry’s fingers start twitching without his  permission he gives in and fiddles with his bag that is similar to Hermione’s moleskin, bigger on the inside and let’s Harry make his potion kit a larger size without having to take it out and magic it bigger.

Quickly, Harry takes one of his Ease-Pain and guzzles it down. He’s just settled back with a sigh of relief—the potion numbs his body for a few seconds before starting to work, when Alfred appears with teapot, three teacups and a plate of biscuits.

“ Master Bruce and Master Timothy will be down in just a moment Mr. Potter? Or Drake?” Alfred asks, but it feels more like a test.

Harry blinks up at him, the problem with the Ease-Pain potion is it numbs almost  _everything_ , and it takes him longer than he would like to connect the dots. He smiles a little, even though Bruce Wayne’s personality leaves a lot to desire, it’s clear that Alfred cares about Timothy. No doubt calling himself  _Mr. Drake_ would imply he’s trying to take Timothy’s fortune instead of focusing on the boy. Not many in the wixen world play word games, and Harry is out of practice. 

But he’s a Gryffindor for a reason so he admits, “If Timothy wants me to change my name I will. I’m partial to Potter because my parents have passed. But I would rather focus on my living members rather than the dead.” Silently, Harry also admits that the Potter name ha d grown less appealing to him after what he’s learned of his father. A bully, even if a popular one, leaves a lot to be desired.  He had been, for several years, tempted to take on the Evans name to honor his mother, but had refrained.  (In a fit of spite he had changed his middle name to  _Lily,_ because part of him would always remember Snape’s memories and wonder what his teacher would be like if James and Sirius weren’t utter prats)

Examining Harry closely, Alfred nods stiffly after a moment and then walks out of the room. Quiet voices fill the hall  a few minutes later , too low for Harry to hear their words, before Bruce Wayne and Timothy Drake enter the room.

Bruce Wayne looks even better in person, and Harry has to swallow tightly and stop himself from blurting out something stupid. Like  _Do you really need those pants?_ Or Merlin, save him,  _How would you feel about making out like teenagers?_ Clearly he needs to stop working in his labs and get laid.

On the other hand Timothy looks  young and has a relatively short stature compared to Mr. Wayne . The similarities to when Harry was sixteen is a little eerie. He has to stare for a long moment because if the boy had green eyes and a bit less muscle and height he would look a lot like a young Harry Potter.

“Chum, good to see you.” Bruce laughs heartedly. “ You wanted to see my boy, Tim right? He’s a wonderful kid.” He pulls Timothy close with a gentle  hand on Timothy’s shoulder.

Harry barely bites back a grimace  at the  syrupy tone Bruce uses and smiles at Bruce as best he can. “Hello. Mr. Wayne...Timothy.”

“Bruce, please, I’m not  _Mr. Wayne_ except in bed.” Bruce winks. He settles himself on the couch opposite Harry, pulling Timothy with him.

Timothy flushes, looking a little warily at Bruce before turning to Harry, “Tim, please. Timothy makes me feel like I’m living in the forties.”

Harry nods, “Tim... Bruce.” He  ignores  the way his stomach twisted at Bruce’s wink. Or how much he wants to keep calling Bruce  _Mr. Wayne_ .  _Ron and ‘Mione would laugh themselves sick_ . Harry thinks with a mental sigh.

“ Alfred showed us the letter.” Tim starts hesitantly when the silence grows too much. He shifts on his seat and clasps his hands together. “I didn’t even know I had any other f-family.” His voice cracks a little on the word  _family_ .

Harry sits up straight, and is relieved at the way his back doesn’t hurt from the quick move, “I didn’t either.” He smiles a little  self-deprecating , “I’m the last Potter and Evans, and I assumed that any relatives would be very distant.” Or someone he wanted nothing to do with like Malfoy.

Tim smiles back, it’s a small barely there smile, but it’s still a smile.  _A win if there ever was one,_ Harry thinks.  Flickering between Harry and Bruce, Tim’s eyes stall at the teacup and he spends several long moments  setting up their drinks and ignoring them both.

Harry tries not to take it to heart. Already he’s seen an adult, Alfred, show caring for Tim by questioning Harry’s motives in taking an interest in the Drake family. He has to assume a man like that wouldn’t be working for Bruce if the man had ulterior motives for Tim, or let Bruce anywhere near the kid. Having another person suddenly appear and be blood family must be difficult, Harry tries to set himself in Tim’s shoes.   
Difficult, since Harry has never really had that—Sirius was close but he hadn’t been a good Guardian now that Harry is older, he knows that, but he still _loved_ Sirius for his potential. “You,” Harry feels more than sees Bruce’s eyes land on him as Tim looks up from the tea, “You don’t have to stay with me or worry that I will be offended if you want to stay with Bruce.”

Tim looks surprised, and he blushes, “I’m sorry it’s just--”

Holding up a hand, Harry grins, “It’s okay, I’m a near stranger. Sometimes found family is stronger than blood.” He knows Hermione and Ron are far more family then the Dursley’s ever were when they were alive. “But, I would like to get to know you if nothing else.” He raises his right shoulder, “I apparently have rights to some of Drake Industries but considering the lawyers didn’t even know where you were,” His eyes narrow and he barely stops himself from hissing in agitation, “If nothing else I’ll have words with them about losing you.”

Gaping, Tim stares at him as if  _Harry_ is an anomaly.

Bruce is also watching him and his smile almost slips, before the smile is back.

Without further knowledge, Harry doesn’t know if Bruce’s reaction is from the lawyers not knowing where Tim was or Harry’s thoughts on the matter. Either way he continues, picking up his tea with careful hands. His eyes straying to the small picture frame next to Bruce’s elbow. There are  two boys in it, Alfred, and Bruce. The older boy—man really, is almost as tall as Bruce, if not the exact same height, and is holding Tim to him like a literal Teddy Bear, and his other arm is slung, somehow, around  _both_ Bruce and Alfred. A picture right beside it has the same tall boy, if a bit younger, and a rather huffy sixteen year old that Harry  _thinks_ is the deceased Jason Todd-Wayne,  with Bruce holding both of them tightly to his chest .  “ You clearly have a family here.” Harry muses aloud. He’s not one for mysteries anymore but he’s a Potions Master, and creator, he’s forged a sharp mind and wit even if it’s not the depths or talents of a Ravenclaw. “I am very glad you have one.” He admits.

Tim blushes easily, and he blushes again at Harry’s words. He takes a hefty drink from his own cup of tea—full of sugar, and says in a voice that’s slightly higher pitched then before, “I-I would like that. To get to know you I mean! I lo-like,” He glances at Bruce and his blush grows crimson at the cheerful expression on Bruce’s face, “living with Bruce and when Dick—my older brother is here.” He admits in a quiet voice.

Bruce ruffles Tim’s hair and chuckles, “He loves his brother, isn’t that sweet?” He asks Harry before continuing as if Harry’s answer isn’t even important, “Well, if Tim has no problems with your visits I suppose I’d be down right awful of a person to deny him. You’ll have to call before. Alfred will give you our home number.”

After that Harry doesn’t  _think_ he is rushed out of the house, but he can’t deny he feels like he’s rushed out of the house. Tim waves to him shyly, and Bruce doesn’t leave the room, and neither Harry or Tim have any idea what to speak about.

Alfred gives him some biscuits on the way out and a phone number that Harry puts into his phone quickly.

The door closes behind Harry and he takes a moment to ponder on that conversation. Before he shakes himself and pulls out his cellphone while walking down the familiar path. He calls a cab even though apparating would be easier—he doesn’t want to chance breaking the American statue of secrecy even if the worst he would get is a fine.


End file.
